


I'm All Yours (I've Got No Control)

by hharrytomlinson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 17-Year-Old Harry, 18-Year-Old Louis, Bottom Harry, Frottage, Lots of come, M/M, Marking, Morning Sex, No Control, Top Louis, Underage Drinking, and such, four - Freeform, harry comes twice, there's no actual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2588276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hharrytomlinson/pseuds/hharrytomlinson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Harry's yet to come to terms with his sexuality and morning sex makes everything alright. (Without the sex).</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm All Yours (I've Got No Control)

**Author's Note:**

> It's short because I wrote it in like an hour. No Control is the bomb, god bleSS FOUR.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](hharrytomlinson.tumblr.com)

Harry rolls over in bed. His eyes are stiffly shut and he’s still tired, even after several hours of sleep. He doesn’t want to get up, but he can smell the mixture of tea and coffee being brewed downstairs and he knows Louis’ going to wake him if he doesn’t leave his bed.

Truthfully, he much rather prefers being woken by Louis, except that always leads in things that he can’t be doing – it’s not good for them. Louis’ not good for them or the band or their image. Harry _can’t_ be gay.

Harry knows he’s gay.

_stained coffee cup_

He’s been gay since as long as he can remember and he doesn’t want to be – it’s not normal, not right, and meeting Louis was a breath of fresh air because _Louis’_ gay. But no one can know that, either.

Louis comes into the bedroom with a mug of tea for himself and coffee for Harry. Coffee means that they shagged the night before, because Harry always gets tired the next day if he doesn’t have it. They’re weird like that – beanies mean sex the night before as well, and after revealing that in an interview, it’s assumed that Harry gets around with _girls_.

_just that fingerprinted lipstick’s not enough_

Harry doesn’t like girls. He likes girls as friends or people to talk to about things that guys don’t understand. He likes Lou, their new makeup artist, and he likes Caroline Flack because she reminds him of his mum. But he doesn’t like the idea of shagging her or being the actual father of Lou’s baby. He’s only seventeen.

Louis sets Harry’s mug on the night table and crawls into bed next to Harry. He turns on the television and Top 50 Boy Bands is playing. Louis and Harry are _in_ a boy band so of course they have to watch.

But Harry doesn’t say anything yet. He’s still tired and too lazy to reach over and take a sip of the boiling hot coffee. Only a bit of him likes when it burns his tongue, like it’s evaporating his sins. He shouldn’t _be_ gay.

Louis sleeps in his bed and touches him in places where he shouldn’t be. By law, it’s legal, but he knows how everyone else would react. He doesn’t know about his mum, or his sister, who’ve always supported him, but that’s with small things like getting a haircut or painting his room blue because it reminds him of the ocean. They don’t know that he did it because Louis likes nautical things and he subconsciously wanted Louis and him to have a major interest, an interest that’d has Louis spending more time in his room than necessary.

_sleep, where you lay_

More time than necessary like having sex on his bed and against the wall, against the door so that his body’s being pressed against it, making it impossible for anyone to enter, even though no one ever would. He may be in the same flat complex as the rest of his band mates, but they don’t wander into Louis and Harry’s flat often.

When Harry gets the urge to sit up, he moves and can feel dried come scratch against his bare bottom. He wasn’t sleeping naked’s number one fan until Louis told him in the X Factor house that he thought it was _hot_. Ever since he’s not slept with undergarments or sweats once, in fear that Louis would get into bed with him and be disappointed that he _wasn’t_ naked.

_still a trace of innocence on the pillow case_

Harry’s head lifts from the pillow and he glances sheepishly at Louis, whose eyes are trained on the television whilst he holds his cuppa close to his mouth, so that if he’s thirsty he can get a sip instantly. Looking over at the night table, Harry notices that Louis’ forgotten to put the mug on the coaster again, but smiles softly because it’s _Louis_.

_waking up_

Harry’s finally completely awake and brings the mug to his mouth, expecting it to taste like coffee – and it does, mostly – and not expecting there to be any ounce of alcohol in it at all. Harry chokes, coughing and bringing the mug back to the night table, completely missing the coaster, and turns to Louis.

_beside you I’m a loaded gun_

Louis’ not paying any attention to him. They’re on number forty-three for the countdown and it’s then that Harry realizes he’s only in his boxers. They’re loose and Harry knows that the hole in the front was purposely splayed over his cock, for Harry to drool over, but he’s really confused and has just drank a bit more vodka than expected for ten in the morning.

He has things to do today, anyway. He can’t be drunk.

_I can’t contain this anymore_

“Lou?” Harry asks, his throat a bit rough from sleep, even though he’s definitely fully awake now. “Why did you, why’s there alcohol in my coffee?”

Louis looks up just long enough to catch Harry pulling the duvet up to his stomach, catching bits of the base of his cock and where Louis had had him shave, his influence always being top priority for Harry.

“Because, darling.” It’s all Louis says, before turning back to the television program.

_I’m all yours_

“But—“ Harry begins, looking up to Louis, who’s mug of tea is now on the night table.

Harry’s frazzled when his waist is straddled, Louis’ hips aligning with his. He can feel the bulge in Louis’ boxers against his own and he – he refuses to look down in fear that the image would pop into his head during church or something god awful like a visit with his mum.

His mum. Harry’s supposed to have a late lunch with her today in London after a photo shoot, and he _knows_ this, but all Harry can think about is Louis’ breath fanning his neck and the hands gripping his wrists.

Harry’s not even legal to drink – he’s _seventeen_ for God’s sake, but Louis’ nineteen. Louis, his older friend who’s also a boy and he has sex with sometimes. Harry knows he’s his boyfriend he just—

_I’ve got no control_

“There’s vodka,” Louis breathes, “in your coffee, because I want there to be.”

There’s not much sense in any of this, especially the vodka, but Louis has a lot of motives that Harry doesn’t quite understand. A lot of experience that Harry doesn’t have and a lot more knowledge on things that Harry’s yet to learn about.

Like the time Louis wanted to try spanking and Harry went with it, even though he felt awful about coming just from looking in the mirrored dressing room and finding Louis’ bright red hand prints on his bum, after a thorough spanking. Or full on face fucking that had Harry’s throat sore for days. But Harry wasn’t going to deny that he liked it.

_no control_

Harry expects more of a blow than Louis kissing his neck. Lips pecking at the pale skin that he knows he needs to keep clean in case anyone catches a hickey or two. But Louis has a specific place he likes by Harry’s ear and it’s only when his mouth moves there that Harry awaits the pain of the hickey.

Louis rubs Harry’s hip whilst he sucks on his neck, something he always does as to ease the pain. It’s soothing and has Harry closing his eyes. Giving in.

_powerless_

They’re quiet with only the low hum of the television playing music of boy bands from years past. Harry’s not paying attention when he finds Louis loosening his grip on his hands, the other slipping further down the duvet.

When Harry tries to hold onto Louis’ waist, wanting to embrace him – _his_ Louis – Louis tsks softly in his ear, sucking extra hard, before whispering, “Arms behind your back, babe.”

Harry _shivers._

_and I don’t care it’s obvious_

And when Louis softly, gently cups his length, he misses hearing Louis whisper about what a good boy he is, how _big_ he is, because he’s too focused on already being fully hard before he was even touched.

_I just can’t get enough of you_

Harry’s seventeen. His stamina is low and he comes at _everything_. Boys. Boys’ hands. Boys’ legs. Boys fucking boys. Boys kissing boys. His mind is a whirlwind of guys and having one on top of him, with a touch feathery light running down his length, drives him crazy.

Bucking into Louis’ hand, he’s pleading for mercy. Harry has things to do like shower before dressing and going out. He’s seeing his mum today. He can’t have sex with another guy before he sees his mum.

Louis presses his lips to Harry’s, tasting the vodka and coffee, and pulls away to reach over the nightstand.

Harry closes his eyes. He can’t do this. He can’t do this.

_the battle’s now my eyes are closed_

Louis has Harry sit up against the headboard, hands still behind his back. Gulping, Harry watches Louis urge the mug’s rim above his bottom lip. He wants Harry to take a sip, and Harry knows he shouldn’t.

And Louis notices his hesitance as well; wraps a hand around Harry’s cock and wanks him teasingly slow until he etches his head forwards, signaling that he’s going to drink the coffee. Louis tilts the cup back with a succeeding glint in his eyes. He’s making sure that Harry has gulped down at least half of the large mug, before setting it on the night table.

_no control_

Louis leaves the bed.

Harry’s hard and Louis leaves him lying there, completely unfazed when he finds One Direction being named on the television. He doesn’t make a move to touch himself, lips parted in confusion with his arms continuing to be behind his back.

It’s two minutes in when Harry closes his eyes, mind a bit fuzzy. His mouth tastes like Louis and tea and coffee and _vodka._ Straight vodka and it’s gross. He wants to scrub his mouth with bleach, but can’t bring himself to get out of bed and do so with his mind so jumbled.

_taste, on my tongue_

Louis returns.

He tells Harry to roll onto his stomach and Harry listens, too drunk to question what he’s doing.

Harry squirms at hands gripping his bum and parts his lips to make a small whiny noise when he can feel something cold and smooth touching him. It’s lube and he knows this, but squirms away anyway.

“We fucked yesterday, Lou.” Harry says, lifting his head to look behind at Louis, who’s seated in between his legs and has a finger inside of his him.

“’Course,” Louis murmurs with a smile, “no time to fuck. Just gotta prep you.”

Harry wants to know what he’s being prepped _for_. His mind’s too slow to come up with any conclusions, so he nuzzles his head into his pillow that smells like Louis, thinking thoughts about how he’s never going to wash the pillow case again, whilst Louis stretches him open with his fingers.

Harry’s too hard and too drunk to care that he’s going to be late.

_I don’t want to wash away the night before_

The night before seems to have tumbled over into the following morning. Harry’s moaning when a plug gets slid into him, rubbing against his bed and _begging_ for Louis to just fuck him. He’s chanting it and normally he’d be much calmer. But he’s drunk.

Louis knows how Harry gets when he’s drunk. He has no filter and no self-restraint. He feels everything a thousand times stronger, like he’s on drugs, or something, and is much more vocal.

It’s not a foreign thing for Louis to have Harry wear a butt plug, but it is foreign for Harry to get off to it.

Harry comes all over himself and squirms over onto his back, panting up at Louis and whining about how he’s all sticky now. He goes to get up, only to be pushed back down by Louis, whose force causes Harry to embrace the bed once again.

_the heat, where you laid_

Harry’s breathing heavy and he’s messy. A good washing is needed in his bed, and he’s drunk. Drunk on Louis, sex, and alcohol that has him squirming against the bed. Louis tries to get him to sit still and eventually straddles him, pinning his wrists to the mattress with a fierce look.

“Are you going to be good?” Louis questions with a frown, glancing down at Harry like he’s a small child who’s been naughty.

Harry wants to be good.

“Good.” Louis remarks, releasing Harry’s wrists to take himself out of his boxers. He doesn’t hesitate to press his cock against Harry’s, which is covered in come that only ends up serving as lubrication.

Harry’s only squirming a bit, mostly his bum against the mattress out of the irregular feeling of something so blatantly up his bum. And Louis can deal with that much, as long as Harry doesn’t get too out of hand.

_I could stay right here and burn in this all day_

Louis leans his hips onto Harry’s, burying his head into his neck, and grasping the both of their cocks in one hand, wanking them at the same time and listening to the heavy pounding from Harry’s chest.

Harry’s moans are rough and he thrusts into Louis’ hand, pressed against _Louis, Louis, Louis_ , and finding himself harder than he’d been all morning, even after already coming. _lost my senses_

The televisions no longer doing the boy band countdown. It’s already gone through all fifty boyfriends, which is _a lot_ and only shows how long Louis and Harry have been in bed and how much time’s being wasted.

Harry’s not aware enough to be the responsible one and Louis’ not responsible enough to be the responsible one. They’re both hard, horny teenagers with an urge to come, and unlike most of the time, Louis’ not going to put it off.

“Woke up so hard for you today.” Louis murmurs into Harry’s ear, setting him off.

_I’m defenseless_

Harry comes first, all over himself and Louis. Louis’ hand is suddenly a lot more wet and the friction between his and Harry’s cock is relieved, Harry’s come once again serving as lubrication.

It’s slimy and Louis should be put off by it. He’s not, though, it only brings his orgasm _now_ and then he’s coming onto Harry, breathing into his neck and kissing his skin, and Harry’s making weak little whiny noises again.

Louis likes when Harry’s like this and not worrying about the title of his sexuality and what everyone else will think about him only if they _knew._ Harry’s appreciating Louis and indulging his warmth and the kisses being left on his neck. Being drunk may be some of the contribution, but that can be fixed with more coffee – actual coffee – and some aspirin.

_he’s holding me ransom_

Louis collapses onto Harry, holding onto him all sweaty and panting into his ear. Harry’s breathing heavy right back, burying his head into Louis’ shoulder as to hide away from what he’s just done. A part of him’s sobering up and he knows that they need to get going soon.

“Lou,” Harry murmurs just quiet enough, “we have to go out today.”

“Don’t have to do anything.” Louis replies back, running a hand through Harry’s hair, before entangling his fingers into the beautiful curls. He inhales the scent of his hair, the smell of shampoo and musky sex.

_sweet and sour_

Harry wants to get up but – _I devour_

Louis’ still all over him, leaving lazy kisses on the top of his head, with a cock pressed to his pressed to their chests.

_lying here I count the hours_

Harry doesn’t want the time to escape him. He’s aware of the world around him, of the time that’s passing, and most importantly; Louis.

_Louis, Louis, Louis._

_No Control._

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](hharrytomlinson.tumblr.com)


End file.
